Aiden's right foot slid back across the packed earth, as though the system itself were gripping his body and forcing him into readiness.
It wasn't just a stance—it was a command whispered into his very bones, an invisible thread tightening from crown to heel. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, the dryness of anticipation catching like sand.
Across from him, Flora's entire presence shifted. The playful warmth that so often lingered around her—like the sparkle of sunlit water—dimd and condensed into sothing sharper.
The sword in her hand was no longer a toy of sparring, but a shard of will honed to strike. Her eyes narrowed, the softness burning away into steel.
The air thickened between them, as though the courtyard itself were aware of her change.
Aiden flicked his gaze toward the hovering interface only he could see.
[Flora D. Leonidus
Status: Full Possession
Personality: Focused / Angry / Deep in Love]
His heart thudded against his ribs. She's angry… but why? The words echoed in his mind like footsteps in a long corridor.
He matched her posture, sword angled in a mirrored line. He could mimic the form—he had stolen the skill from her, after all—but form alone was a hollow mask.
His grip trembled, the steel humming faintly as if mocking him. He lacked the weight of years, the marrow-deep confidence Flora carried as naturally as breath.
My goal isn't to win, he reminded himself, inhaling the acrid tang of oil and dust. My goal is to survive. To hold on.
His blade swept sideways in a sudden arc, quick feet biting into the dirt. For a heartbeat, he saw surprise flicker across Flora's eyes. Hope sparked.
But she was Flora.
Her sword shifted with effortless grace, catching his strike as if brushing aside a stray leaf.
Tang! The tallic resonance rang across the courtyard.
The watching knights cheered for their lady, their voices a tide rising behind her. Their loyalty was not subtle—it pressed against Aiden like a second opponent.
Flora's free hand moved to the small of her back, her body coiling with poised elegance. Then she struck.
Her motion was sin incarnate—so fluid, so unbroken, it felt illegal. Aiden barely registered the arc of steel before his system seized control, yanking his body backward. His boots skidded across the ground in retreat.
Even so, cold fire kissed his neck. A shallow cut blood, stinging with tallic heat.
Fuck! His mind blazed. If not for the system, my head—
"Hmm… impressive," Flora said, her voice smooth yet edged. "You would have lost your head had you not known when to back away."
"Haaa…" He forced a laugh, his chest tightening with pain and pride alike. "Thanks for the complint, my lady. But—" His mask slipped, voice lower. "Tell truly… what is bothering my lady today?"
He mirrored her stance again, hand placed at his back, striving for calm. But his pulse betrayed him, hamring so fiercely he was certain she could hear. Heat flushed his face.
Flora's lips curved. "You look cute when you are at the edge, did you know that?"
Her words sliced deeper than her blade. For the first ti in their endless dance of bed and battlefield, he realized: here, in combat, he was naked before her.
mories tugged at him—on the bed, he had ruled, pressed her beneath him, claiming dominance. But here, beneath the blaze of morning sun and the gaze of her knights, she was sovereign. She was the storm, and he rely clung to its edge.
Her sword arced high, sunlight spilling along its length. She swung, a predator's grace in every motion.
Aiden braced, his defense clashing with hers.
Tang! Sparks danced between them.
Her steps drove forward, forceful and unrelenting. He backed away, each retreating step a silent confession.
"You're enjoying this," Aiden said through gritted teeth, catching her smile even as the pressure crushed him.
"Indeed," Flora purred, her body close enough that her golden hair brushed his cheek. Her chest moved with each strike, an unyielding rhythm that both mocked and entranced him. Her breath was warm against his skin.
"Where is your talent, Aiden? Is this it?" Her voice was honeyed disdain.
Her boot slamd into his stomach. Pain spiked, radiating through his core. He staggered, his abs straining against the blow.
"Lesson number one," she said coolly. "Sword fighting is not just the sword. Your form is good—perfect, even—but it's only a shell. No substance."
Aiden gasped, one hand clutching his abdon, the other keeping him upright with the sword. He knew she had held back; still, it felt as though a wall had struck him.
A cruel truth settled in him. Noble won were not fragile flowers—they were born of bloodlines that blessed them with bodies that could break n like him. He envied them.
And cursed himself. His own blood was a curse, Lilith's chain coiled around his heart, waiting for the mont to strangle.
The world is unfair. 'But I don't complain'. His smile flickered, bitter yet resolute. Complaining isn't .
"Thank you for the lesson, my lady," he said, straightening his form. But this ti, he loosened it, openings in his defense blooming like deliberate flaws.
"You should have stuck with Lion's Mane," Flora said, eyes narrowing. "At least you were defending yourself decently."
"…Let's say I have much to learn." His grin deepened, reckless. "So co and teach ."
He gestured with his hand, beckoning her.
The knights burst into laughter. "Is he courting death?" one sneered.
"Peasant will always be peasant," said a curly-haired knight. "Even if gifted knighthood."
Flora's smile faded. Their words struck sothing raw in her, sothing beyond the duel. She glared at Aiden, fury twisting beneath her beauty.
Because she rembered.
She rembered her mother.
The way he had touched her.
The way her mother had allowed it.
The mory was bile on her tongue.
Her voice cut through the air, sudden and sharp. "Yesterday… where were you all day? All night?"
Aiden's heart jolted.
"I heard you were at my mother's court," she pressed. "Her room. Serving her… all day. All night."
The courtyard went still. Even the wind seed to hold its breath.
And Aiden knew.
He knew why her aura burned. Why her eyes were fire.
He had given Flora less attention—but how could he resist her mother? A queen in beauty, in presence, in hunger.
He had spoken truth when he'd called her his favorite. No matter how much he fucked her, to satisfy her and himself it was never enough.
The more he pounded, the more she moaned in need, asking more and more An everlasting loop of utter lust.
But how could he admit that?
"Yes…" he forced the word, fragile as glass. "I required guidance. For literary ans."
The mont the excuse left his lips, he knew it was poison.
Flora's aura flared. Her teeth clenched. "Guidance…" The word was venom in her mouth.
The knights stirred, fear dripping into their laughter.
"L-let's go," one muttered, tugging at another's arm. "He's a goner. He should have kneeled, begged, surrendered. But his arrogance…"
"Indeed," another said grimly. "We don't want to witness murder."
They withdrew, boots crunching against the gravel.
Leaving Aiden alone before her storm.
He gulped, throat dry as dust.
She's still furious. Still burning about her mother.
The space between them crackled with silence, charged with sothing greater than steel.
And in that silence, Aiden wondered if this was the mont his curse would claim him. Not his system but his toxic need to see her upset.
User Comments
0 comments from readers